


Tale As Old As Time

by violent_ends



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angry Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, F/M, Hate Crimes, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Murder, POV Chloe, Post-Season/Series 04, Sad Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 03:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20594105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends
Summary: When a murder that has taken place in a gay conversion therapy camp awakens the righteous fury of the Devil, Chloe finds herself reflecting on Lucifer's complicated love story with humanity and works to restore his faith in it.(set after Lucifer's eventual return from Hell)"He's angry, and his anger comes from his own forgiveness: now that he has accepted that he can’t be considered responsible for other people’s bad deeds, now that hebelieveshe shouldn’t be blamed for everything that is wrong in the world, he can barelystandit. Ironically, he gets mad less often than before ever since he came back, strengthened by a vicious coldness that wasn’t as apparent before. But when he does, oh, when he does the earthshakeswith it and Chloe knows that if he allowed the anger to course freely in his veins, buildings would start to crumble around him."





	Tale As Old As Time

**Author's Note:**

> After a recent rewatch I realized Chloe and Lucifer have never dealt with homophobia and I decided to have a go at how Lucifer would react, so here it goes. Obviously, don't read or stop reading at any point if this is a trigger for you, but know that the violence is not described in detail.

There is always a case that strikes a nerve, for everyone.

Chloe and Dan always have a hard time dealing with child victims, especially when it turns out that the murderer is a relative, or even worse, a parent; they struggle to understand it, recoil in horror from the concept, and the aftermath of the case never stops echoing and aching inside as they both hug Trixie that little bit tighter at night before tucking her in.

Ella tries and fails to hide her face so she can shed a tear on those rare occasions when a home invasion gone wrong also involves the killing of a guard dog or some other house pet; her gentle soul mourns the loss of any innocent creature put on this Earth by the Big Guy, as she calls Him, and her only solace is the evidence she can sometimes retrieve from the poor animal, suddenly elevated to a higher purpose.

For Lucifer, when it comes, it’s unexpected and a total punch to the gut; it wakes a rage in him that is as old as time itself, a fury that stems and burns from divine justice, a righteous indignation that couldn’t possibly be contained or sedated by the laws of men and their pitiful, inadequate _systems_ to keep each other in check or hold each other accountable.

It reminds Chloe, perhaps more than any other time, that he literally answers to a higher power. And that he is, more than the Devil, an angel of vengeance, a punisher on a holy mission.

They have been through it all: falling in love, finding out, betrayal, forgiveness, acceptance, then demons and a race against time and Hell, for both, for a long time. Now he’s back, his features and pose hardened by the Underworld but to Chloe’s eyes only, as the clever light of his wits and charms blinds everyone else in his presence.

Chloe likes to think she knows all his inner demons, that she can trace every line of anguish on his forehead back to its source, but she’s only human, and there is an underlying pain in his eyes – it has always been there, always, but back then the light blinded her too – that dates back to the beginning of history and throbs with something as ancient and eternal as the stars he gave life to. Sometimes she wonders, as odd as it may seem, how _tired_ he must be: of people, of places, of the _world_ \- a world that keeps on changing but fundamentally stays the same in its constant spin toward self-destruction.

But that’s just it: Lucifer is _never_ tired. He dives face-first into everything humanity has to offer – mostly music and sex, but then again, what else is really there to enjoy? – and lets himself be shocked, moved, seduced, hurt, surprised, still _surprised_ after thousands of years. Chloe has her own theory about it, complete with a mental board dotted with post-it notes: humanity is, quite simply, Lucifer’s way to fill a void, and that’s why he never stops feasting on it long enough to question what it is to him.

It enrages him at times, unnerves him, frustrates him, but he will always come back to it because he has nowhere else to go.

So this case, well, this case breaks something in him: a quiet hope he has secretly nurtured all along, an uncertain belief in the fact that they can all just be _better_. The unsatisfyingly obvious core of the matter is that they can’t, as Chloe has learnt at this point: there are good people and bad people and _blah blah blah_, we all know how the story goes, but no amount of good people will ever be enough to simply put evil to bed for good. All they can do is try.

But Lucifer is, for lack of a better word, _enamored_ with humanity, and every time this ancient lover of his disappoints him, he _unravels_ from the force of it, only to pull himself back together and start a new day with the same look of love and curiosity in his eyes. It’s a naivety and openness that Chloe finds tragically endearing but also heartbreaking at times, when she is the one feeling wiser, despite how small she is in comparison, and tells him _There is nothing else for us to do now_.

Jackson, a 15-year-old kid, has been beaten to a pulp and to his death on the premises of one of those gay conversion therapy camps Chloe is sure are now illegal, at least in this State. Once the investigation is done she’ll make sure to have someone look into it and shut it down, but for now, she and Lucifer are forced to interview staff members and camp residents in what would have been a pretty nice country retreat without the stench of intollerance and bigotry oozing off the wooden walls.

Lucifer is unnaturally quiet as she asks about relations with the victim, possible enemies and alibis, his leg tapping madly against the floor where he sits, teeth grinding and fists tight in his lap. Like everything else about him, his anger is impossible to ignore: it cuts through the air like a knife, covers the world around him with the kind of nervous, restless quiet that always precedes a thunderstorm. Granted, now that Chloe is in the know she has the tendency to link every detail of his demeanor to how so very _not_ human he is, so there is no way of knowing if it’s an exaggeration on her part.

In the end, it’s the head of staff that makes him finally snap after hearing of meditation practices and self-control exercises, isolation periods and praying, definitely a lot of praying to reject sin and temptation – it goes unspoken who the tempter is, but Chloe knows Lucifer doesn’t need to hear it for it to hurt.

He laughs, as cruel as any laugh can be; mocking and judging and _seething_ underneath, once again defeated, once again stabbed in the chest by the humans he keeps coming back to, and the force of the blow radiates all the way to and into Chloe when he speaks.

"Of all the things you accuse me of, this may be by far the most _insulting_” he spits out like venom. “There is no sin to be cured of here, you awfully misguided little man.”

The headmaster, a man in his fifties with glasses and a checkered shirt, turns from puzzled to indignant in an instant and raises his chin in defiance, not having a clue about who sits in front of him.

"It is a sin for a man to lie with a man, sir, as someone _definitely_ more important than you teaches us.”

The smile Lucifer has managed to plaster on his face falters at the mention of his Father, and for a moment Chloe thinks it’s about being considered _inferior_ to him, but no, it’s not that: Lucifer looks offended _for_ Him.

"I can assure you He is judgmental about many things,” he says hoarsely, no doubt referring to himself at least in part, “but certainly not _this_.”

The pious idiot raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms over his chest, looking so ridiculously mundane in his lumberjack attire that the difference between the two men is almost hilarious if Chloe stops to think about it.

"You would dare to presume the will of the Lord?” he asks, voice laced with the conviction and certainty of all the fanatics of the world.

Lucifer bristles, nostrils flaring, and pushes himself forward from the chair to plant his elbows on the table separating them.

"Would _you_?” he accuses, his eyes pulsing red for a fraction of a second, startling the man from his collected composure.

"I- I think we’re done here, thank you" Chloe intervenes, placing a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder until he slowly leans back against the chair, eyes still wide and glaring but back to their human color. It’s not like Chloe doesn’t enjoy the look of terror on people’s faces when they deserve it – she does, now more than before, which may actually be a bit troubling – but the last thing they need is a religious zealot figuring out Lucifer is the Devil and going after him, _again_.

The director of the camp nods hastily and leaves the room, suspicious but hopefully scared enough not to look into what he just saw. Chloe watches him go, but when she turns to glance at Lucifer next to her, she finds an empty chair.

Sighing, she walks outside and circles the main building until she can see him, standing at the edge of the small lake that makes the place look like a vacation postcard when it’s exactly the opposite. A clever deception, a perfect picture for a brochure. Lucifer is lighting up a cigarette when Chloe reaches his side, the line of his jaw so sharp it could probably cut through steel, and in the literal sense.

"Are you okay?” she asks him, watching him take a long drag with his eyes closed. She always stops herself from telling him it’s going to hurt his vocal chords, because she’s pretty sure he knows it anyway, and if anything his voice is deeper and darker than ever when he sings, these days.

"This isn’t what He stands for, you know it, right?” he replies without meeting her gaze, staring into the distance instead. “This isn’t what I’m supposed to _punish_, either.”

He’s angry, and his anger comes from his own forgiveness: now that he has accepted that he can’t be considered responsible for other people’s bad deeds, now that he _believes_ he shouldn’t be blamed for everything that is wrong in the world, he can barely _stand_ it. Ironically, he gets mad less often than before ever since he came back, strengthened by a vicious coldness that wasn’t as apparent before. But when he does, oh, when he does the earth _shakes_ with it and Chloe knows that if he allowed the anger to course freely in his veins, buildings would start to crumble around him.

"Of course I know it, Lucifer" Chloe tells him, walking in front of him so that she can actually meet his gaze, but his eyes move up to the sky instead. “Hey, look at me.”

Lucifer shakes his head silently and scoffs before he finally complies.

"You and your obsession with suppressing desire. I will never understand this about you _humans_.”

It sucks the breath out of Chloe’s chest, the way the sentence refers to _everyone_, herself included. The accusing plural makes her feel small, insignificant, at _fault_ for simply existing when deep down she knows she can’t answer for all the members of her species. Before Lucifer, before celestials, before Hell, she had never reflected on such a philosophical level on what it _means_ to be human because there was no other highly intelligent, sentient creature to compare it to.

But now he’s here, an angel created out of divine light, and in his ire Chloe sees Judgement Day, sees a throne from which mortals are trialled and sentenced without a jury but with all the evidence necessary. _I am the Devil, I have all the cause I need_, Lucifer had said once, in Tiernan's office, and Chloe is starting to feel like it’s true although she’ll never let him lose control, lose _himself_ back to the darkness.

And the thing is, she doesn’t know what to say. Somehow she feels _offended_ by his harsh remark, insulted by his sense of superiority, but her throat feels dry.

"I- _we_-"

"Oh, there you are, you guys! I have been looking everywhere for you!” Ella pipes up as she rapidly approaches them from the shed, her gloved hands holding the ginormous camera hanging from her neck. She walks toward them until she can circle around Lucifer and notice his thunderous expression.

"Hey,” she addresses him gently, smiling in that way only she seems able to pull off, with a warmth that could melt ice. “You know not all of us believe in this crap, don't you? Christians, I mean. This is just a bunch of nonsense, man, don’t let it affect you too much. God is love in all its forms, am I right?”

She raises a hand in the air for Lucifer to high-five her, which, truth be told, probably is something he wouldn’t do even under normal circumstances.

"Right" he mutters under his breath before turning around and stalking towards the car, as Chloe and Ella stare at each other in defeated silence.

*

The methods of the conversion camp are questionable at best, laughable and misguided as anything can be, but they don’t seem to involve physical punishments and none of the staff members or residents has a history of violence. They have to sit and wait for cyber and forensics to provide a break in the case, and when the break does come, its cruel hand strangles Lucifer by the throat and squeezes painfully at Chloe’s heart.

"I can’t take this anymore, please come get me" recites the text message that was cleverly deleted from the Sent folder, but not permanently from the victim’s phone. A cry for help sent in the middle of the night a few hours before the murder. To _Dad_.

But dad was on a fishing trip, he said, an alibi conveniently confirmed by a close family friend; and if he was, why not just answer and say no? The need to delete it is almost enough to put the pieces together, but not quite; then the friend is called back to the precinct, crumbles under Chloe’s insistence and gives up on his pretense.

The victim’s father is brought to the interrogation room by two agents some time later, his eyes hollow as they handcuff him to the table. Next to Chloe, Lucifer is barely restraining himself from bursting into flames. She has gently tried to tell him that he can go if this is too much, but of course, he refused. The terrible turn of events cuts deep into him, she knows: a father killing a son for not accepting him, finding him unworthy of his love for a sin that is not a sin, a weakness Lucifer himself is blamed for inciting.

It’s too much, and for a good part of the interrogation Lucifer actually stays silent, which is _never_ a good sign: he is light and energy and words, words, words about everything, everyone, all the time. It’s when he shuts himself inside his ancient mind that he grows somber, brooding, pensive; it’s when he thinks of a rebellion and a fall that Chloe has a hard time reaching him. It’s when he contemplates the unredeemable nature of humanity that her heart shrinks in fear at the thought of him leaving, this time never to return, horrified and fed up and disgusted at the very thought of dealing with people, even _her_.

"I was so frustrated,” cries Jackson’s father, as if it could somehow count as an excuse, “we tried everything and nothing seemed to work, but at the camp, I thought- I thought he was making progress!”

Chloe closes her eyes and sighs deeply, trying to collect herself and be professional. _There is no progress to be made when there is nothing to fix_, she wants to say, but it’s beyond the scope of the interrogation, beyond the purpose of getting a confession and understanding the motive. No, not _understanding_ it, just... hearing it loud, despite the fact that it still won’t make sense. They never do.

"So you went there and confronted him, correct?” she asks in her Detective-voice, looking at the phone record that shows the text message clear and unmistakable on a white piece of paper, anchoring herself to something she can understand, a son's request for help. “You tried to convince him to stay?”

The man nods, tearful but not entirely regretful, she can tell.

"But he wouldn’t listen,” he whispers in defeat, “he never _listened_. I got so angry and I just- I couldn’t stop myself-"

"How could you do this to him?” Lucifer cuts him off, startling Chloe with his deep, rumbling voice, a voice that seems to erupt from the depths of the Earth and resonates with the anguish of a tired, dying world. “To your own flesh and blood?”

The murderer turns defensive, as they always do when confronted with the ugliness of their act, grasping at straws to make it look justifiable, to paint themselves as those who got _wronged_.

"I gave him everything, and all he did was disappoint me" he explains, shaking his head to himself, his voice lower. “All I ever wanted was to make him stronger, strong enough to resist the pull of the Devil and his wicked ways. I can only hope God will forgive him.”

He crosses himself vehemently and Chloe distantly wonders if Lucifer is actually, literally capable of shooting fire from his eyes because if he was, this would definitely send him over the edge. Why did she let him into the room, again? Why did she allow for him to be tortured like this?

"Forgive _him_?” Lucifer asks with a cruel lilt to his voice and a dark, haunting chuckle that has Chloe wonder how on Earth did she not notice what he is, even before seeing it. “How many delusions do you entertain in that empty head of yours, I wonder? The only silver lining is that your son will never see the likes of you again, where he is now.”

He says it with such certainty that it sends a chill down Chloe’s spine, reminding her that he truly is above everything, above all of them, that he's seen Heaven and Hell and knows what lies ahead for everyone. He never describes those place to her – an unspoken rule about keeping humans' knowledge of the divine to a minimum, as if what she knows isn’t already enough to risk a mental breakdown if she allowed herself to have another one. He never does, but he doesn’t need to. He is a constant reminder that they exist.

No eyes turn red this time, no Devil face appears, but when the culprit is ushered out of the room Lucifer watches him go with intent and in his stare Chloe can see a sentence of eternal damnation forming and being delivered, as if Lucifer is branding the man with his eyes so that he won’t forget his face when the time will come. He still flies down to Hell every once in a while, where a few of his closest siblings take turns at replacing him in the meantime, and Chloe knows him well enough to know he will go there _specifically_ for this man, for this soul. She doesn’t have it in herself to blame him, so she doesn’t.

He’s cold and distant when he heads for home, tells her he needs to be by himself tonight. Chloe smiles in understanding and kisses him on the cheek and hopes she won’t have to drop by the penthouse in the morning only to find the furniture covered and abandoned again.

She won’t have to, because when she wakes up a text from Lucifer is lighting up her phone’s screen.

_Will you come with me to his funeral?_

_Of course_, Chloe replies with tears in her eyes, before calling the precinct and informing that they will come in late. She heads to the shower and braces herself for the heartbreak she will see on his face, tries to find the right words to tell him as hot water pours down her body, hoping it will wash away the stench of inherent _sin_ she knows he can’t bear.

He comes to pick her up in his Corvette, dressed in total black, a look he hasn’t donned in a while. The darkness of the color stretches over the long, taut lines of his body, accentuates the deep jet black of his perfectly styled hair and stubble, emphasizes the sadness in his eyes. But he kisses her on the lips before opening the car door for her, and smiles with gratitude at the mere fact that she said _yes_, and in the tenderness of his hand on her cheek Chloe feels forgiven for being human, if forgiving is what he needs to do.

They watch the funeral from afar, standing near a tree at the edge of the green patch of grass where the coffin will be interred. Jackson’s mother cries without pause during the entire ceremony (for her son? For her husband? For her failure? For everything?) and they can barely hear what the priest is saying, but Lucifer refuses to walk any closer.

"I don’t know why I decided to come" he chastises himself all of a sudden, his arm hooked around Chloe’s as she leans her head against his shoulder. “This whole thing doesn’t _mean_ anything. He’s not _here_.”

He doesn’t understand funerals, just like he doesn't understand many social practices and conventions, rituals and habits and rites of passage that give a rhythm to life, marking a beginning, a middle and an end because it’s all going to _end_, at some point, just not for him. Chloe doesn’t know what he was looking to find, exactly, if his goal was to be struck by a sudden revelation that is disappointingly not dawning on him from a ray of heavenly light breaking the clouds in the sky and shining down on his face.

And yet, she feels like she needs to explain, because then maybe he will understand, he will show _mercy_, he will fall in love with humanity again – he loves _her_, that’s without question, but his troubled affair with mankind goes way back and sometimes it’s up to her to keep it afloat, she’s come to realize.

"It’s just a way to say goodbye" she tells him, looking up at his face from his shoulder. “It’s for his friends and family to move on.”

"Ah, yes, the loving family that punished him for being himself and drove him to his death" he scoffs, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow, and the renewed coldness of his tone wakes something in Chloe: the need to stop rolling on her back in defeat in front of his fury, the desire to stand up and defend herself, defend her _kind_ like a mother bear with her cubs. She disentangles her arm from his and turns to look at him properly.

"This isn’t all there is to us, you know?” she tells him in a stern voice, probably angrier than intended, but at least it catches his attention. “We- we are not perfect, Lucifer, but we _try_, we try to be better and it doesn’t always work but it’s all we can do, it’s all we're _capable_ of doing.”

"_Detective_,” Lucifer says in a startled whisper, shocked at her sudden outburst, at the unexpected, heartfelt closing argument of a trial he clearly didn’t realize he started; but Chloe is on the stand now and her testimony is not done yet.

"Granted, some of us are stupid or mean or just pure _evil_ but those of us who are not try to make up for it, even though it’s not our fault, even though each of us is responsible for himself. We make mistakes and we fall, yes, we fall _all the time_ and then we get back on our feet and you of all people should know what that feels like. If your Father really made us and if in time we have disappointed Him, disappointed _you_, for this I am sorry, _we_ are sorry, Lucifer.”

_Just don’t give up on us_, she thinks. _Don’t give up on me._

For a moment she fears the speech might backfire on her, but then Lucifer’s face softens from shock to quiet, reverent awe and maybe a tiny bit of regret.

"Oh, Chloe," he says heatedly, treasuring her name as if he’s scared of wearing it down, “I've been an ass these past few days, haven’t I?”

And just like that the terror in Chloe’s chest unfurls and takes flight, letting her know Lucifer is not completely lost to her yet.

"Uhm, sorta" she replies, suddenly feeling more relaxed, pressing her tongue to the inside of her cheek and smiling playfully at him. “Okay, not exactly, it’s just... I can see that this case has affected you deeply, and it feels like you blame us all. I can’t stand it.”

The fondness in his eyes and in the way he lifts a hand to cup her cheek is a reminder of something Chloe feels in her bones sometimes, tingling at the tip of her fingers, beating in time with her heart: _I will never stop loving this man_. There will be no “after Lucifer", just like it feels like there was no “before" even though there _was_ and hell, she has a child to account for that.

"You don’t have to apologize for anything, for anyone" he tells her, his thumb soft on her cheekbone. “I know you’re not all the same. I guess I got carried away, is all. It’s just not fair, Chloe. It’s not _fair_.”

"I know it’s not" she says, reaching up to stroke his stubbled cheek in the same way; he catches her palm with a quick kiss and Chloe melts inside and falls in love with him again, enraptured by the innocence of the Devil, his willingness and stubbornness to keep _caring_, his tenderness in letting his heart get broken knowing she’ll be there to glue it back together.

They watch in silence as the too-small coffin is lowered into a hole in the ground, except for Lucifer’s muttered “What is the bloody point?” because oh, right, there is no point in visiting a rotting corpse buried six feet under the surface when the person you are mourning for is either way lower or way higher than that, she supposes. The question hangs in the air, unanswered, because maybe some things are not for Lucifer to understand and some other things will always be beyond Chloe’s human range of comprehension, and perhaps that’s okay.

She squeezes his hand and tries to gently pull him away and back to the Corvette, but something must have caught Lucifer’s attention, because he doesn’t budge. Chloe follows his gaze until her eyes stop on a young boy, roughly the same age as Jackson, standing near another tree but at the same distance from the burial as they are. She is almost sure they have interviewed him during the investigation: a friend from school, if she remembers correctly.

The 15-year-old stares at the ceremony longingly, eyes traveling all the way to the big picture of Jackson propped up in the middle of the grass. He looks down at the rose he’s clutching in one hand, then back up in front of him, pondering. Then he squeezes his eyes shut, takes a shuddering breath and turns to leave.

Lucifer’s hand escapes Chloe’s grasp as he rushes to catch up to the boy. Surprised, Chloe scurries along but stays a little behind, just close enough to be able to hear him.

"May I?” Lucifer asks as soon as he reaches Jackson's friend – well, not exactly friend, clearly, unless his love went unnoticed all this time. Chloe can only hope their young victim knew about it.

Lucifer lifts and opens his hand in the direction of the rose, earning a puzzled look from the mourning teenager. Chloe’s heart breaks a little at the unbearable pureness of the exchange when the boy’s eyes fill with gratitude, as he silently places the rose in Lucifer’s hand after a first moment of hesitation. She follows Lucifer to the coffin and watches as he reaches it just in time to let the flower land on the smooth wooden surface, before someone from his side starts dropping bigger and bigger mounts of soft brown earth on it. She walks up to Lucifer quietly, slips her fingers through his again.

Lucifer smiles sadly at her, then turns back in the direction of the boy he just helped say goodbye and nods, letting him know it’s done. He doesn’t comment on the fact that doing this has no use, that Jackson won’t even know this rose is being buried with him; he doesn’t mock the silly, naive convictions of humans about death and sin and salvation. _Maybe he gets it now_, Chloe thinks. _Maybe this is enough. Maybe this unknown boy has taught him more in this moment than I ever will_.

"I'm glad he was loved" she whispers to him, realizing only as she’s saying it how the notion gives comfort to her as well, how it will help her keep going about her day, her week, her entire life, reconciling the ugliness of the world with the beauty that hides in it as well. “I guess it’s what truly matters, in the end.”

Lucifer hums in agreement and turns to look at her with eyes that have seen kingdoms rise and fall, stars bloom into existence and perish into black holes; eyes that might judge and look down on mortals but not on her, never _her_ despite her flaws and the way she has hurt him more than he'll ever admit.

"It really is, Detective" he says, smiling.

They walk together to the car, to both of their houses to change, then to work, then to his penthouse in the night to make love and the story goes on repeat in a loop that is, quite simply, life. Humanity seduces and betrays Lucifer time and time again and he lets it, hiding his pain behind the veil of indifference or screaming at it from the top of his lungs, only to welcome it again like a tired lover after a silly argument with his human arms and his angel wings wide open.

It’s a complicated relationship, and he probably gives more than he receives, but Chloe is there to even things out.

It’s a tale as old as time, and at least in Chloe’s eyes, the most beautiful love story there will ever be.


End file.
